Stronger
by Skabooom
Summary: "They were practically dating and Stiles hadn't even realized it. And it took being kidnapped for him to notice that he actually had feelings for Kyle, hell he could very well be in love with the guy. But that was something he'd need to examine later." [Stiles/Deputy Parrish.]


_**A/N This story is a joint write between myself and bilesandthesourwolf on tumblr! She is amazing, AMAZING, and you should all go check her out!**_

**_Trigger Warnings: depictions of violence and mild torture, anxiety, panic attacks._**

This was the dumbest situation Stiles had ever found himself in, and he'd been in some pretty dumb situations. He'd been running around with werewolves for nearly 3 years. He'd dealt with crazed alphas, geriatric psychos, kanimas, darachs, hunters, oni, and a damn nogitsune. Yet, here he was, bound and gagged, kidnapped by humans – regular, boring humans – instead of being at his high school graduation party. Stiles was trying very hard not to cry out of sheer frustration.

It had all started after their graduation ceremony. Stiles had just separated from his friends with plans to meet up at Lydia's for the after party. He'd just made it to his Jeep, throwing his graduation gown into the passenger seat, when he felt something hit the side of his head. He didn't remember hitting the pavement.

When he'd finally come to, his vision was blurry and he felt like throwing up, gagging on the rag tied around his mouth. There was something sticky slowly trickling down the side of his face. Stiles could only assume it was blood.

Stiles' vision finally cleared enough for him to see that he was in a dimly lit, dirty room. The sleeves of his dress shirt were ripped back to revel his wrists zip tied to a wooden chair, plastic biting into his wrists and he could feel that his ankles had received similar treatment. He tried wriggling his arms, trying to loosen the ties, but they were too tight. The chair made a creaking noise and Stiles' throbbing head protested the sound.

The noise must have alerted his captors to his consciousness because a moment later, two figures walked into the room. They looked like ordinary men, albeit dirty and unkempt men. One was wielding a rather large knife and the other had a gun tucked into the waist band of his jeans. Stiles tried to speak, but his voice was muffled by the gag in his mouth.

"Looks like the brat has something to say," the one with the gun said.

The one with the knife stepped forward and roughly yanked the gag out of his mouth, "What do you want, boy?"

Stiles swallowed several times, trying to wet his dry mouth before saying, "What are you?" voice hoarse.

"Don't you mean 'who'?" the one with the gun asked as the knife wielder slowly circled him.

"No, I mean-" Stiles stuttered to a stop as he really looked at the figure before him. And that's when he realized he'd been taken by humans. Nothing supernatural about them at all. He let out a tiny laugh in relief.

Which he immediately realized was a mistake when the man with the knife grabbed his hair and yanked his head back painfully, pressing the knife to his throat. He felt the cool steel pierce his skin and tried not groan at the pain as he felt blood trickling from the cut.

"What's so funny, you little shit?" the man asked gruffly, lips against his ear.

"Nothing," Stiles managed to choke out, head throbbing with renewed vigor.

"That's what I thought," the man said as he removed the knife and roughly shoved Stiles' head to the side. He moved to stand in front of him with the other man.

"Do you know who we are?" the man with the gun asked as he crossed his arms and glared at him.

"No," Stiles answered through gritted teeth, trying to keep his temper in check. "Should I?"

"Yeah, you should. Considering your fucking father and his dumbass deputy put us away a year and a half ago," the guy practically shouted.

And then things started clicking into place. It was just after the nogitsune fiasco. Stiles was on the mend and everyone was trying to resume their normal lives, or as normal as they could be in Beacon Hills. His father had appointed Parrish as his Deputy Sheriff after the department's newest member had found out about the supernatural shit happening and hadn't run the other way.

There had been a murder in town, a drug deal gone bad. It was the first big case the department had after the explosion and everyone was working frantically to find the killer. Stiles remembered his dad and Parrish constantly working over time. He'd take them dinner when he felt up to it, knowing they were to busy to look after themselves properly. He would try to stick around and look at the files, finally starting to feel like himself again. But his dad would inevitably make him leave. On more than one occasion, Stiles had been too tired to drive himself home and Deputy Parrish had offered to take him back home.

The department had finally caught a break and found the killers, James Smith and David Thompson. The men had been tried and found guilty, sentenced to life. But just last week, Stiles had overheard his father and Parrish whispering about a break out. They'd quickly shut the door when they saw Stiles eavesdropping, but this is what they must have been talking about.

Smith, the one with the gun, smirked. "Figured it out yet? Everyone says you're smart."

Thompson, the man with the knife, barked out a laugh. "Not smart enough to avoid being kidnapped though."

"You blind sided me in a dark parking lot," Stiles couldn't stop from pointing out. "That's not exactly what I'd call clever."

Thompson's face darkened before he took a step forward and backhanded him, hard. Stiles' head whipped to the side and he tasted blood from where his lip had been split open.

"Got anything else to say?" Thompson snarled.

Stiles was beyond pissed. These assholes had kidnapped him as leverage to get at his father. He was in pain and he was missing what was supposed to be one hell of a party. So he did the only thing he could think of: he glared at the man before him before spitting a mouthful of blood right in his face. Thompson reared back and wiped at his face in disgust before he backhanded Stiles again and then delivered a blow to his gut.

Stiles was seeing stars as he gasped for breath. He could hear Thompson's angry, labored breathing and Smith chucking darkly. He knew he shouldn't antagonize these men, that they were dangerous and meant business. But he was just so angry, angry that he was once again being used against his will, especially as bait for his dad. As his vision cleared and he finally caught his breath, Stiles resolved to do what he could to keep his dad safe and to get out of this situation alive.

Stiles shook his head in answer, not trusting himself to not say another smart remark.

"Good," Thompson said, running the knifes edge along his cheek. "Cause next time I might just take a finger." He pulled the knife away and Stiles breathed a sigh of relief.

"Maybe we should take one anyway," Smith said, stepping closer to Stiles and Thompson. "Send a message to the brat's dad and boyfriend."

Thompson chuckled, a dark look filling his eyes. And then Stiles processed what Smith said.

"Boyfriend?", he asked in confusion. "What boyfriend? I don't have a boyfriend. I think I'd know if I was dating someone." He was fully aware that he was rambling and that his voice was getting shrill. But he was scared and confused and he didn't really care.

"That damn deputy sheriff," Smith sneered. "Everyone knows the guy's in love with you." He looked disgusted at the idea.

"But, no, we aren't-" Stiles stammered, completely thrown.

And then as if a movie were playing, he saw pictures in his mind in rapid succession from the last year and a half: Stiles hanging out at the station talking with Parrish cause it was better than being alone, Parrish coming to their house for dinner once a week, Parrish driving him home when he was too tired to do it himself, Stiles switching from calling him Deputy Parrish to Parrish and then finally straight out calling him Kyle, Stiles finding out that Kyle was as big a Star Wars geek as himself, marathoning the movies with Kyle one Saturday afternoon while his dad was at work, Stiles sitting across from Kyle at the station working on his homework, Kyle laughing at his jokes and then smiling fondly at him, having lunch with Kyle at the diner down the street from the station several times a week, Stiles feeling a sense of peace and calm around Kyle that he didn't feel with anyone else.

They were practically dating and Stiles hadn't even realized it. And it took being kidnapped for him to notice that he actually had feelings for Kyle, hell he could very well be in love with the guy. But that was something he'd need to examine later.

"No, no. We aren't dating," Stiles said, shaking his head. He'd deny everything right now. He'd lie and deny everything if it meant protecting those he cared about.

"Whatever you say," Smith replied. "It doesn't matter anyway, cause your dad and lover boy will come looking for you anyway and we'll be ready for them when they get here."

"What are you going to do to them?" Stiles was beginning to realize it didn't matter what he said or did, these guys were hell bent on revenge and for the first time that night, he felt truly terrified.

"Why don't you use your imagination?" Thompson answered, maniacal expression covering his features.

"I swear to God, if you hurt them-" Stiles shouted, struggling against his bindings.

"You'll what?" Thompson smirked before reaching out and shoving the gag back around his mouth.

Stiles tried yelling at his captives, but everything was muffled, and that only made him angrier as he continued twisting his wrists against the zip ties. He felt the plastic cut into his skin, pain mixing with the sticky sensation of blood. But he didn't care.

"That's right, you little shit," Thompson sneered, getting right into Stiles' face. "When they get here, there's nothing you can do to stop us."

Stiles saw red and before he could stop himself, he reared back and then head butted the man right in the nose. Thompson howled in pain and stepped back clutching his bleeding, broken nose. Stiles head throbbed from the impact but it was worth it to see the other man enraged.

Smith's face took on a twisted, frightening look, before he grabbed the knife from Thompson's lax fingers, stepped forward and plunged his knife into Stiles' left thigh, dragging it toward his knee, creating a line of fire. He screamed in pain as the knife was roughly yanked from his leg and blood began to seep into his pants. Tears filled his eyes as his captors left the room.

Once the door slammed shut behind them, Stiles finally let the tears spill from his eyes as his quiet sobs were muffled by the gag around his mouth.

Stiles wasn't sure how long he sat there in silence. His leg was on fire but it looked as though the bleeding had slowed. From what he could see through the rip in his pants, it didn't look too deep, but it ran from the top of his thigh all the way to his knee cap.

His head was spinning and he was starting to get panicky. He knew these guys meant business and he knew that his father and Kyle, the man he was possibly in love with, fuck, would find him and soon. Stiles didn't doubt that someone was going to get hurt, it was just a matter of who.

He must have eventually dozed off, troubling thoughts running through his throbbing head, because he was jarred awake by raised voices coming from the other room.

"They should have been here by now," Smith was yelling. "We left enough clues to our location!"

"You think I don't know that?" Thompson's voice was quieter but no less angry. "Maybe the idiots got confused and thought there were several different places we could be."

"We should just kill the little shit and leave his body for them to find. That should be a good enough blow to them," Smith said, voice full of conviction.

Stiles started struggling against the zip ties again even though he knew it was futile.

"I thought we were gonna kill those fuckers that put us away?" Thompson asked.

"That was the plan," Smith replied, venom dripping from his words. "But they're taking too long and I want this to be over. Plus, killing the boy will be just as effective at hurting them, don't you think?"

Thompson chuckled darkly. "That's diabolical. I like it."

Footsteps moved toward the room he was in and Stiles renewed his struggling as his captors came into view. Smith had his gun in his hand and Thompson was holding his knife out in front of him. They both looked more crazed then they did earlier and Stiles tried to hide his fear. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction.

"Look at him," Smith sneered, "thinking he's gonna get away.

"Well, he's in for a nasty surprise," Thompson said, circling Stiles while running the knife lightly over any of his exposed skin. Fear shot down his spine as the man stood behind him, knife at his throat once again, and whispered in his ear, "How should we kill you, boy?"

When Stiles turned his head slightly to the left in an effort to get away from the man's foul breath, he caught sight of movement through a doorway and into a darkened hallway. He almost sobbed with relief when Kyle's face came into view. He was leaning against the door frame, out of sight from his captors. Their eyes locked and Kyle held a finger up to his lips, signaling Stiles to keep quiet, before wrapping his hand back around his gun. Stiles had never seen the man look so angry in all the time he'd known him. Kyle's usually calm features were twisted into a hateful expression; he looked ready to kill. Stiles would have felt satisfaction at the thought that his well-being meant that much to the deputy sheriff if he wasn't so worried about their safety.

Behind Kyle, Stiles could make out several other deputies, all with guns drawn and bullet proof vests on. He couldn't see his father and knew immediately that Smith and Thompson were right: the department must have narrowed it down to several different locations and then split up to save time. Stiles felt a grim sort of happiness that his father would be safe and away from what was about to happen.

Stiles was drawn back to his captors when Thompson dug his knife harder into his neck, nicking the skin again. He hissed at the pain and the man pressed the knife in even more and laughed as blood began to trickle from the wound.

"I think I should just slit his throat and be done with it," Thompson said.

"No," Smith replied. "I want to put a bullet straight between his eyes."

Thompson snarled as he stood up, pulling the knife away from Stiles' neck. "That's not messy enough."

"To hell with messy," Smith yelled. "A bullet to the brain is more poetic, sends a message."

The two men were standing close together in the middle of the room shouting at each other. Stiles turned and saw Kyle and the other deputies inching into the room. He knew things were about to get serious. Just as he heard Kyle yell, "Freeze," Stiles threw himself as hard as he could to the right, knocking the chair to the ground. He hit his head and his vision went black for a moment as he heard yelling and gun shots.

Panic set in. His heart rate increased, his breathing became labored, he felt like the room was spinning. He couldn't see what was happening. He didn't know if Kyle was alright. He couldn't fucking breath.

And then he felt warm hands on his face, hands pulling the gag from his mouth. As if through a fog, he heard a voice calling his name, over and over. The hands were gentle, stroking his face and hair. Stiles was finally able to register that it was Kyle. Kyle's gentle hands on him and Kyle's voice calling out to him.

"Stiles, come on," Kyle's voice was soft, comforting. "I need you to breathe, okay. Can you do that for me?"

Stiles took a shuttering breath, and then another, his vision cleared and Kyle's concerned face swam into focus. He was kneeling on the ground beside him, hands cradling his face.

"That's good Stiles," Kyle said, running a hand through his hair. "You're doing great."

Stiles continued to work on breathing properly and the panic began to recede. He didn't take his eyes off of Kyle's face. Behind the deputy sheriff, Stiles heard one of the other deputies on the radio saying," Yes, sir. We got him." Stiles felt even more relief when his dad's voice crackled through the other end, "We're en route. The second location was obviously a bust. We'll be there in 5."

"Are you alright?" Stiles managed to croak out through his parched mouth and split lip.

Kyle smiled fondly, hand resting on Stiles' cheek. "I'm fine. I'm going to untie you now, okay?"

The other man pulled a knife from his belt and Stiles flinched. Kyle lowered the small blade and held his other hand up, slowly reaching for Stiles' wrist. "It's alright, Stiles. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. Do you trust me?"

Stiles couldn't find his voice, couldn't find the words to tell Kyle he trusted him almost more than he trusted anyone else. So he simply nodded.

Kyle smiled softly, rubbing his thumb along Stiles' wrist as he brought the knife back up. He made quick work of the zip ties on his wrists, never once taking his hand away from Stiles' skin. Once his arms were free, Kyle moved down to cut the ties around his ankles. Stiles moved his aching arms, and tried to rub some feeling back into his hands but hissed when his fingers touched the torn, raw skin around his wrists.

Kyle was back in front of him quickly, pulling his right hand into his own. He began rubbing Stiles fingers and palm, careful to avoid touching his wrist. "How does that feel?" he asked after a moment.

"Better," Stiles said, voice raspy.

"Good," Kyle replied before gently lowering his arm and picking up the left one. He repeated the same motions, helping the feeling return to his fingers.

When he was done with his left hand, Kyle asked, "Do you think you can sit up?"

"Yeah, yeah, I think so," Stiles replied.

Kyle kept a hold of Stiles left hand and reached out to place his other hand on his right shoulder. He gently pulled Stiles into a sitting position. The room spun for a moment and Stiles grabbed onto Kyle's arm to keep from tipping over.

When felt steady again, Stiles finally got a good look at Kyle and noticed the man was bleeding, a gash visible on his bicep through the rip in his shirtsleeve. "You're hurt."

Kyle pulled his eyes from Stiles' face and glanced at his own arm. "It's nothing. A scratch." Then he chuckled, a humorless sound.

"What's so funny?" Stiles questioned.

"Only you would ask if someone was alright when you've been through who knows what at the hands of these animals," Kyle's face turned angry again.

"Did you kill them?"

"I wanted to," Kyle admitted, eyes dark and mouth set in a firm line. "I would have. But the others stopped me."

Something swelled in Stiles at the thought that this man would protect him so fiercely. Not trusting his mouth to betray him, Stiles looked over Kyle's shoulder and saw the other deputies standing around Thompson and Smith. Both men were handcuffed and looked the worse for the wear. It looked like Thompson was out cold and Smith was bleeding profusely from a bullet hole in his arm. No one was doing anything to stem the flow. Stiles couldn't say that he minded at all.

"Stiles," Kyle said, pulling his attention from his captors back to his rescuer. It was then that Stiles realized they were both still gripping each other tightly. "Stiles, I-"

But whatever Kyle was going to say got cut off by the sound of a door banging open and his dad's voice shouting his name. The deputy sheriff smiled slightly and stood up slowly, bringing Stiles with him. Just as they both made it to their feet, the sheriff burst into the room and rushed at them.

He grabbed Stiles in a fierce hug. "Thank God. I'm so sorry Stiles. This is all my fault," he whispered in his ear.

"It's okay, dad," Stiles whispered back. "I'm okay."

"How touching," Smith sneered from his place on the floor.

The sheriff pulled back from his son and made sure Kyle had a good grip on him once more, before he rushed towards the man. "You sick bastard," he yelled. He lunged toward Smith and no one tried to stop him as he grabbed the man by the shirt and slammed his fist into his face. There was a sickening crunch as Smith's nose broke and he howled in pain. The sheriff dropped the whimpering man back onto the ground and stared at him in disgust.

Stiles was more than a little surprised by his dad's display of aggression, but he couldn't even begin to imagine what he'd been through in the last few hours.

"Parrish," the sheriff said without taking his eyes off the man on the ground.

"Sir?" Kyle asked.

"Get Stiles out of here. Get him home. I'll take care of these scumbags and get your statements in the morning."

"Yes, sir," Kyle answered as he tightened his hold on Stiles. They slowly started walking towards the door, Stiles leaning heavily on the deputy sheriff, trying to keep his weight off his injured leg.

"And Parrish," the sheriff said, finally looking up at them, face set in stone. "You take care of my son."

Kyle nodded, face determined, before continuing to help Stiles out of the house.

The ride back was quiet, with Stiles curled up in the backseat, Parrish driving as quickly, but as safely as he could. He parked the cruiser outside of the Stilinski house and helped Stiles out of the car. Stiles winced, leaning heavily on the deputy sheriff. With the adrenaline of his rescue wearing off, he was in excruciating pain, though he was trying to hide it.

"Okay, first things first," Kyle said softly, helping Stiles into his bedroom. "Let's get you cleaned up. First aid kit?"

"Under…under the sink, in the bathroom," Stiles said quietly, looking down at the ground, unable to make eye contact.

"Okay." Parrish stood, going for the kit. He also wet a few cloths and brought them with him. "It's okay, Stiles," he said softly. "You're safe with me, okay? You're safe. Now this is going to sting a little…" he first went for the nicks in Stiles' neck. He cleaned them out, dabbing gently at them with the warm, soapy cloth.

Stiles winced, because soap in an open wound, it stung like crazy, and he clenched his fist, trying to bite back the pain he was feeling course through his entire body.

"I have to fix your leg," Kyle said softly. There was blood all over Stiles' jeans and he knew the cut would be a mess. "Do you think you can stand? We have to get these pants off of you."

Stiles nodded, not saying a word. He leaned on Kyle, but got himself to his feet, shaking hands fumbling with his jeans as he pushed them down and stepped out of them.

Kyle helped him back down onto the bed and started to dab at the wound. This was longer, but not too deep. He dressed it silently, just wanting to get Stiles in good shape. He didn't want anything to become infected.

"Just…one last…" Kyle reached out, taking Stiles' hands, looking at them. His wrists were raw from where he had been bound, and the sight of all of this made Parrish sick, but this wasn't about him. This was about Stiles. This was about helping Stiles, about fixing him.

He gently dressed the wounds on each wrist, taking great care not to make it hurt any more than he had to.

"Okay." He pushed the supplies away, but didn't move to put them back where they belonged. He didn't think that he could leave Stiles, not right now. The boy looked so messed up, so forlorn, and Kyle didn't want to leave him alone like that.

He busied himself getting Stiles pajama pants and a clean shirt, and together, they managed to get him into the clothes, free of blood, and for Stiles, not seeing his own blood on his clothing was a comfort.

"Thank you," Stiles said quietly, forcing himself to look up into Kyle's impossibly green eyes. "You…you saved my life."

"And I'd do it again in a heartbeat," Kyle said softly.

Stiles didn't reply, not with words. He moved, launching himself into Kyle's arms. It hurt, but he needed the comfort of another human, of Kyle, more than he needed anything else right now.

Kyle wrapped his arms around Stiles, one hand going to his back, rubbing gentle circles, trying to calm Stiles down as the young man shook in his arms. His other hand went to the back of Stiles' head, gently playing with his hair, another act to calm him, as Stiles' face burrowed into Kyle's chest.

"Stiles," Kyle said softly. "Stiles, no matter what happens, I will always come for you."

Stiles pulled back, not entirely, just a bit, looking Kyle in the eyes again.

"Why?" he asked. His voice was quiet, barely audible, and shaky as hell, and Kyle could tell that this wasn't going to be an easy fix. No bandaid was going to fix these wounds.

"I thought that was obvious," Kyle replied, looking right back into Stiles' amber eyes.

Stiles studied Kyle, nodding. He knew what Kyle was saying, he knew what that meant. He knew that Kyle was saying that he cared, and Stiles? He hadn't realized it, not until he'd been tied to that chair, scared out of his mind, but he felt the same way.

Words escaped him, though, and he just moved back, his head nestling against Kyle's neck, tears falling from his eyes, wetting Kyle's skin, his uniform. He felt utterly weak, like the damsel that had to be saved, but at least he was alive. They had been so close, just seconds from killing him, and here he was now, in his own bed, in his own home, with someone who really and truly cared about him. He was still scared, still terrified, but at least he was safe.

"Please," Stiles said softly after several minutes. "Please don't leave me. I can't…I don't want to be…I just…"

"It's okay." Kyle looked at Stiles. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here, okay? I'm right here."

Slowly, gently, Kyle eased Stiles down onto the bed. He pulled the blankets around the young man, taking extra care not to touch any of Stiles' injuries. He didn't want to hurt him, not even a little bit, not even by mistake.

"You need sleep," Kyle insisted, and Stiles nodded, because it was true. He was exhausted. Once Stiles was tucked in, Kyle kicked off his shoes and climbed into the bed. He put his arms around Stiles, and Stiles instantly moved closer into him, against the warm body.

"I'm afraid if I close my eyes, this will be gone," Stiles whispered. "That I'll be back there, that I'll be-"

"Don't focus on the sight," Kyle replied, tightening his arms around Stiles. "Focus on me. Feel my arms, hear my breathing, my words. I'm here, Stiles, and I'm not going anywhere." He paused, listening to Stiles' shaky breathing for a moment before speaking again. "I love you. Focus on that."

And Stiles did.

He closed his eyes, he took in the feeling of the strong arms wrapped around his fragile body, the warm breath on the back of his neck, and the sound of those three words on repeat in his head lulled him to sleep.

Kyle woke in the middle of the night to Stiles thrashing and screaming in the bed. The blankets were twisted around his flailing body, and it didn't take a genius to know what was going on.

"Stiles," Kyle said softly, trying to gently shake him, to keep from hurting him further, or scaring him anymore than he already was. "Stiles, wake up."

Stiles continued to thrash, to toss and turn, to shout in his sleep, and while Kyle knew a thing or two about comforting people, he wasn't really sure how to deal with this. He took a deep breath and pulled Stiles into his arms, holding him close.

"Stiles," he whispered. "You're having a nightmare, it's okay. Wake up."

Some combination of the words and the pressure of Kyle's tight embrace woke Stiles, and instantly, he turned, burying, his face in Kyle's chest, his whole body wracked with sobs.

"Hey, hey," Kyle said softly. "It's okay…it's okay." He rubbed Stiles' back, holding the younger man close to him. "You're safe now, you're safe here, you're with me."

"Th-thank you," Stiles said finally, his voice shaking with his body as he looked up at Kyle, biting his lip. "For…for saving me," he said softly. "And for staying, for…" he trailed off, because god, he'd never felt so weak in his life, and while he didn't like the feeling, at least he wasn't feeling it alone, going crazy.

"Please stop thanking me," Kyle said softly. "I was always coming for you. I always will. I said that before, and I mean it. You're not just the son of my boss, Stiles', you're…you're so much more than that."

"I love you, too" Stiles said, the words leaving his mouth quickly, as though if he didn't blurt them out, they might get stuck there forever. "I didn't know that I did, I didn't even really think about it until…they had me tied to that chair, and they said you were looking for me, they said some things about us, and I just…it just clicked."

"I'm sorry," Kyle said softly. "I'm sorry that it took you being tortured to see what I've known for awhile now." He reached down, cupping Stiles' face in his hands, looking down at him.

The moonlight caught Stiles' face, and the bruises, the wounds, were still so painfully obvious to Kyle, but at least Stiles was here, he was safe. Kyle could protect him now, could shoot anyone who tried to touch him, and he would. He had never felt more threatened then he did when he found out Stiles was missing. He had never felt more angry then when he first saw Stiles bleeding, two men arguing about the best way to kill the man that Kyle had grown to love.

"It'll be okay, right?" Stiles asked, his voice shaky. "They won't…they won't get away with this?"

"No, they won't." Kyle shook his head. "They won't come anywhere near you ever again, they won't be able to. Your dad and I, we'll make sure of it."

"Okay." Stiles took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, to calm his body down. He was worked up, but he was exhausted, and sore, and he just wanted to be able to go back to sleep.

"Come on, lie down," Kyle said softly, as though reading Stiles' mind. He dropped a gentle kiss to the top of Stiles' head, and then moved, lying down, gently bringing Stiles with him.

He took the blankets, fixing them around himself and Stiles before wrapping his arms back around Stiles, pulling the young man as close as he could. Stiles was still shaking, but it was less now.

"Can you turn around?" Kyle asked softly.

Wordlessly, Stiles nodded. He turned so that he was facing Kyle, and Kyle pulled him in, cocooning Stiles against his body, starting to gently rub his back once again. He knew that there was no easy fix for what Stiles was dealing with, so he just held him close, trying to comfort him as best he could.

"Don't…don't let go," Stiles said softly, his tone pleading. "Please, don't let go."

"I won't," Kyle said, re-adjusting his grip on the other man. "I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, I'm not letting go," he whispered. "And just in case it wasn't already abundantly clear to you," he said softly. "I love you."

Stiles felt something in his chest release as Kyle said those words again. Yes, they had been said already, but hearing them again, it was a much needed comfort to Stiles, who would grasp at anything to find comfort right now. He grabbed a fistful of Kyle's shirt, gripping it tightly, because this was real, Kyle was real, and how he felt for Stiles? That was real, too, and right now, Stiles just needed something real, something good to cling to, to help him fall asleep, and finally, he did.

This time when Stiles woke up, it was calm, normal. The first thing he felt was Kyle's arms around him, followed by the soft breath on his skin. He didn't say anything, just lay there as the sunlight flooded the room. He didn't want to think about what had happened, he didn't want to be afraid, he just wanted to focus on the fact that he was alive, that he was alright, and that he was currently being held close in the arms of someone who loved him, someone who had risked their life to save him.

Kyle was sort of beautiful as he slept, just as he was the rest of the time. He was still wearing his deputy uniform, and Stiles cursed himself for not lending him something more comfortable, but last night had been, well, a whirlwind, and he had been largely distracted. At least now he was home, he was safe, even if he was scared out of his mind.

"Morning," Kyle whispered softly, opening his green eyes a few minutes later, looking right at Stiles.

"Morning," Stiles whispered back.

"How are you feeling?" Kyle asked.

Stiles paused for a moment, not really sure how to answer that question, because he didn't feel good, not at all. He was sore, he was a little anxious, and he felt like he wanted to stay in bed for the rest of his life where nothing could get him, but he didn't want to say that. He didn't want Kyle to know just how weak he really was, or at least how weak he was feeling right now.

"I'm feeling okay." There, that was somewhere halfway between the truth and a bald-faced lie that Kyle would detect a mile away, and the shrug of the shoulders that accompanied it helped to sell it as a half-hearted attempt to make Kyle worry less.

Of all of the situations that Stiles had been in in his life, this one hurt in a different way. The lives of people that he loved had been threatened. He had been used as a pawn against his father, and against the young man that he loved, even if he had only just realized that, and being used like that? It hurt, and it scared him more than anything ever had. His father could have died because of him, Kyle as well.

They lay there in bed for about half an hour, not saying anything, because Kyle didn't know what to say, and Stiles wasn't sure that he had the strength to say anything else. He was still processing everything, the way that things had gone down, and the level of pain that it had caused. He didn't want those men to have power over him, not anymore, but at the same time, everything hurt, physically and emotionally, and that would serve, he was sure, for a long time as a reminder of what they had done to him.

After a bit, they heard a car pulling up outside, the slam of a car door, and the unlocking of the house door.

"I think your dad is home," Kyle pointed out, though that was pretty obvious. Scott was the only other person that had a key to their house, and he didn't drive. Sure, it was possible that Melissa would have driven him over, but Stiles was pretty sure that, especially right now, Scott would call first. God, did Scott even know what had happened?

Stiles didn't wait for confirmation. He wanted to see his father, he _needed_ to see his father.

He pulled himself out of bed, and stood up too quickly, swaying a bit before Kyle acted quickly, reaching out to steady him.

"Careful," Kyle said gently.

Stiles hated that he needed the assistance, but he had stood too fast, and he was still very much in pain.

The two of them made their way to the door, and by the time they opened it, Stiles' dad was already standing in the hallway, heading towards them, looking exhausted from having been at the station all night processing the assholes who had hurt his son.

"Dad." Stiles barely choked the word out before launching himself at his father.

He didn't care that it hurt to do that, didn't care that it felt as though he had set his body on fire. His dad was all that he had had for so long, and all that he wanted right now was reassurance that his father was alright, that they were all alright.

"Stiles…" His dad wasn't having much better luck keeping tears back as he pulled his son in tight against him.

There was no way to describe the pain, the fear that he had felt when Stiles had been taken from him, the fear that when they found him, it might be too late, and it almost had been. He knew – they both knew – that Kyle had saved Stiles' life, that without him, they might not have gone to the right location first, and that the boy they both treasured might easily have been killed.

"I love you," Stiles breathed, tears soaking against the shoulder of his father's uniform. "I love you so much, I'm so sorry dad, I'm so sorry."

"Stiles, it's not your fault," The Sheriff insisted, rubbing Stiles' back, trying to calm the young man. It was a lot – too much, really, too overwhelming for all of them.

"Dad, I just…I…I…" He couldn't get the words out, and honestly, he wasn't even sure what words he was going for. He just wanted his father to know, _needed_ him to know how much he cared.

"Son, I know," The Sheriff said softly. "I know. It's okay. I'm here. You're safe, and those men? They're going to go away for a long time. You're gonna be okay, Stiles, okay? Whatever it takes, whatever you need, whatever you want, just let me know, alright?"

"I just gotta know that everyone I love is okay," Stiles whimpered through his tears.

"We're okay, Stiles," his dad assured him softly, still rubbing his back, trying to bring as much comfort as he could to his clearly panicking son. "We're all okay."

The emotional exhaustion of the reunion saw Stiles falling asleep on the couch not 20 minutes later, his head resting on his father's thigh. Kyle sat in an arm chair across the room, not sure what to do. He had asked if he should leave, but one panicked glance from Stiles had told everyone in the room that leaving was only going to make things worse, and Kyle remembered his promise. He would stay as long as Stiles needed him to be here, no matter what.

"I will never stop owing you for this," The Sheriff stated, looking at Kyle once he was sure that his son was asleep.

"No." Kyle shook his head. "You don't owe me a thing. I was just doing my job."

"Doesn't matter," The Sheriff shook his head. "You saved his life."

"It was a life worth saving," he said softly, looking down.

"Yeah." The Sheriff nodded, because he agreed whole-heartedly, but his situation was different, this was his son. Kyle? He was a deputy with no prior connection to this family, but he had one now, and it seemed the bond was stronger than the Sheriff really understood just yet.

"I…" Kyle looked up at him. "I'm not…I don't…"

"It's okay, you know," The Sheriff stated.

"What?" Kyle asked.

"How you feel about him. I've seen the connection between you two growing since you started coming around here, and it made me nervous at first, because you're a little older, and he's…Stiles, but after last night, after what I've seen, no one could care for him better than you."

"Th-thank you, sir." Kyle looked down, because yeah, this was awkward, but at the same time, the conversation needed to be had. He was in love with his boss' son, and he didn't think that was likely to change anytime soon.

"Stiles spends a lot of his life looking after other people," The Sheriff continued. "Me included – hell, me especially. He'd never admit to it, but he just needs someone who can look after him the way that he looks after others. Can you be that person?"

"Yes, sir." Kyle nodded, not skipping a beat, because he knew already that he'd do anything for Stiles. If it had come to it last night, he'd have taken a bullet right between the eyes for the kid, and he didn't feel that way about just anybody.

"Okay." The Sheriff nodded. "Then you have my blessing. Don't screw it up."

"I won't, sir," Kyle promised.

"Good. Now I have to go back to the station, I don't want to wake him up…" he gestured to the teen who was half sleeping on him.

"I got it." Kyle walked over, gently lifting Stiles just enough to get him off of his father, and sitting down himself, pulling Stiles' head into his own lap. His fingers brushed gently through the teen's hair as he looked down at the bruised, but serene face of the sleeping boy, and as the Sheriff left the house, he knew that he was leaving his boy in the arms and care of someone who loved him as much, though differently, as he did, himself.

Recovering wasn't easy, not for any of them. Stiles couldn't be by himself. If he was, he would get so trapped, so stuck in his own mind, that panic was inevitable, and he couldn't get out of it without help. He woke up in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder, and only someone's arms around him, the familiar heartbeat of someone who cared for him, someone he cared for, could help bring him back.

Sometimes it was the Sheriff, sometimes it was even Scott, but more often than not, the arms around him, the voice soothing him, belonged to Kyle. He rarely slept at his own apartment anymore, choosing instead to come to the Stilinski's after work, to ease into bed next to Stiles, and slip his arms around the man he loved and hold him close.

They weren't dating, because it was clear that Stiles wasn't ready for that, but Stiles clung to him like nothing, and no one else mattered when Kyle was in the room, and Kyle let that happen. He made himself available to Stiles, because all that he wanted was for the young man to get better, and he was getting better, it was just slow. Very slow.

It was two months before he first slept through the night, and another five weeks after that before he got through a whole day without having a panic attack. It made Kyle so angry that one night of torture and abuse could screw someone up this much, but what Kyle didn't realize was that the abduction had really just been the straw, and the camel's back was broken as a result of just too much stress, too much pressure.

There was a trial, and Stiles has to testify, and that was probably the hardest of all, because looking at those men, the ones who had hurt him, sent him right back to that place, but putting them away? There was something liberating about it. They were gone, behind bars, and they weren't coming back. He knew that, but what he feared was others like them, people who would try to hurt him, his father, his Kyle. They weren't like Scott, they didn't have a supernatural ability to heal, to fight, and all of this just proved to Stiles how utterly weak he and his loved ones, as humans, really were.

"Hey, Kyle?" Stiles asked softly, looking over at him. It was late, maybe midnight or just after, and Stiles was close to sleep, but not quite there yet.

"Yeah, babe?"

"What made you choose law enforcement?"

"I wanted to be able to help people," Kyle replied, reaching out, gently tracing the pad of his thumb across Stiles' cheek. The bruises and cuts were long gone, but Kyle still remembered them clear as day.

"But what about you?" Stiles asked. "Aren't you worried that something will happen to you?"

"No." Kyle shook his head. "I know that that's part of the deal, I know that I'm not a civilian, and that their lives come first – your life comes first."

"I don't like that," Stiles admitted. "You and my dad both…it would be so easy for me to lose both of you in one go."

"That's not going to happen," Kyle whispered, pulling Stiles close against him.

He was used to calming the boy's nerves before bed, holding him close, rubbing his back, reminding him again and again how much love he felt.

"But you-"

"We're not leaving you, Stiles, it's as simple as that." He looked at Stiles, studying his face, the fear, the anxiety that had become so commonplace over the past few months.

"How long are you going to wait for me?" Stiles asked, looking into Kyle's green eyes.

Kyle didn't have to ask what Stiles was talking about – he knew what the other man meant. They had skirted the issue a couple of times, and full on talked about it a couple of times, deciding that they would be together, that they would give dating a shot once Stiles' feet were on more stable ground.

"You know the answer to that," Kyle replied, even though he hadn't specifically ever addressed that particular question.

"Kyle…"

"I'll wait for you until you are better, until you are ready. My eyes, my heart, they're not wandering, Stiles." He shook his head, looking down at the young man. "I fell in love with you long before all of this, and I can wait until the storm starts clearing to show you just how much."

"No." Stiles shook his head. "Kyle, you show me how much you love me every day, I just feel like…like I never give you anything back, like I'm just this burden, just someone that you have to take care of."

"Stiles it's not like that." He shook his head. "Just being close to you, like this, right now, until you're better, that's enough for me."

"Okay." Stiles nodded, because there was no doubting Kyle. He had this look on his face, one that said he was being totally and completely honest. "I love you too, Kyle, I really do, and I'm sorry that we have to wait to be…us, to be anything."

"It's okay." Kyle smiled at him, shifting. "It will just make our first date that much better."

"Will you tell me about it?" Stiles asked.

"About what?" Kyle asked, confused.

"Our first date."

"Oh, um, okay." Kyle nodded. "Well, first, I'll pick you up, and spend about 10 minutes promising your dad to have you home by 11, and another several minutes trying not to be distracted by how amazing you look. Then I'll take you to a restaurant – anyone you want, and we'll sit there, and talk for hours. Our food will get cold because we'll be ignoring it, lost in each other." His hand made its way to Stiles' hair, absently running through the short, but present locks. "Then we'll split a dessert, but you'll eat the whole thing, because I don't have much of a sweet tooth, and we both know that you do. After that, I'll take you for a walk through the park, just a short, gentle one – I don't want to overdo it on the first date. I'll hold your hand in mine, lace our fingers together, just like this." He took Stiles' hand, holding it gently, squeezing it softly. "When it's time, I'll drive you home, and walk you to your front door. I'll put my hand on your cheek, draw you in, kiss you softly goodnight. I'll smile as I pull away, and I'll tell you that I love you, and ask when I can see you again. And the answer will be 'tomorrow,' because we both know that's the longest I can go before I have to see you again."

When he finished, Kyle looked over at Stiles, who was studying him with a look that he had never seen before.

"What is it?" Kyle frowned. "What's wrong?"

"You love me," Stiles said softly.

"Well yeah," Kyle nodded.

"So much." His voice was small, and it was clear that he was surprised by just how much Kyle cared.

"Oh, Stiles…" Kyle looked at him, right in the eyes. "Of course I do."

"Yeah." A ghost of a smile crossed Stiles' lips, and he leaned in, kissing Kyle softly.

It was a short, chaste kiss, but it had a subtle electricity that Stiles knew he would never forget, that he would never want to. It was his first kiss with the man he loved, and that alone was enough to make him savor this moment forever.

When they pulled away, they didn't take their eyes off of each other.

"I love you," Stiles whispered. Kyle was never slow to tell Stiles how he felt, to remind him, but Stiles was quiet these days, and hearing the words from him, while not a nonexistent luxury, always seemed to carry so much weight, that after what he had been through, this man was still capable of looking at someone and telling them just how he felt.

"I promise," Stiles continued. "That we will be together, okay? I'm getting better, and I will be…we will be, I-"

"Stiles," Kyle cut him off. "We already are."

And there was that look again, Stiles studying him like he was seeing him in a whole new light. He leaned in, resting his forehead against Kyle's, feeling for the first time in a long time, the knowledge that, someday – and someday soon, at that – everything was, in fact, going to be okay.


End file.
